It's A Moment That Was Meant For Me and You
by sherrybaby
Summary: He took a deep breath and stared at the other boy. The sunlight filtering in the shades cast a sort of halo around Stan, giving him the illusion that he was glowing... or an angel. "So.. you ready?" "What, now? "Yes."


If asked, Richie and Stan would say their first kisses were with Beverly Marsh. The truth is, their first kiss happened a good six months prior to joining the rest of The Losers.

The boys had met the Losers Club, however briefly, at school, but up until they joined the other five, it was just the two of them, together so much that their parents said their names like it was one word; StanandRichie, RichieandStan. Inseparable, just like them. Donald and Andrea Uris didn't necessarily approve of Richie Tozier' s lifestyle, neglected and foulmouthed, but he was their son's best friend and as far as they could tell, Stan wasn't picking up any of Richie's bad habits. In fact, they were hoping Stan would impart some of his rule-following wisdom onto Richie; Maggie and Wentworth Tozier were also grateful for Richie's friend for this very reason.

No, if asked, the boys would die before admitting to the kiss; but they both remembered every single detail.

Stan was studying his bird book- after doing chores and homework- of course, hoping to memorize just a few more facts to tell his father when they went bird watching that weekend. He had just enough time to register his mother calling his name faintly from the front of the house and the pounding of feet on the stairs before the door flew open and a mess of noise and chaos flew in. He scrambled to hide his book before Richie could tease him about it.

"Stanley, _what_ were you doing in here?" Richie wiggled his brows, screeching in a horrendous impression of Andrea Uris- one he created just to annoy Stan, and never in the earshot of the namesake.

"Nothing!" Stan said defensively, his ears reddening. He smoothed out his navy blue comforter, subtly covering the book more before Richie flung himself down on the bed beside him. Stan half-heartedly tried to halt Richie's attempts of freeing the book from the sheets, knowing once Richie set his mind to something, there was no stopping him.

"Is this your _bird book?_ Stan… what _were_ you doing?"

"Nothing!" The flush crept up his neck now, and two bright pink spots appeared high on his cheeks; a sure sign he was flustered. He didn't like what Richie was insinuating. In fact, it made him downright mad. There was nothing dirty about studying. And sometimes Stan just wanted some quiet time. He wasn't trying to hide anything, he just wanted something for his own, without being marred by jokes and innuendo. Something pure.

"Oh, _suuuure_ -"

"Sometimes you're a real A-Hole, Richie," Stan glowered. Richie's mouth dropped slightly and his eyes widened, worsening the bug-eyed look his glasses provided. Stan rarely cursed, let alone at his best friend. Rich knew he hit a sore spot.

"Hey, I'm sorry, Stanny. Really. Look, you don't have to hide this from me. We're best friends. I already know you're a nerd!"

Stan rolled his eyes and shoved his friend. Richie looked so surprised and- hurt?- that Stan couldn't help but feel bad for him, and slightly guilty.

"Sorry I called you an A-Hole." Richie grinned at this, and then shrugged as if to say 'I am, but you love me anyways.' Stan supposed he did, as a friend. _Just_ a friend.

They raided the fridge for snacks, dug through the stack of comics Richie brought, then settled on Stan's bed, leaning against a wall so their feet dangled off the edge.

 _(what if something grabs us just slides right out from under the bed and grabs us and pulls us into the darkness to float)_

Stan pushed the thought out of his mind just as Richie cleared his throat. He opened his mouth then closed it again as if second guessing himself.

"What?" Stan asked, closing the comic- an issue of Archie- but pulling a bookmark from his bedside and placing it between the pages to mark his spot. Richie smiled slightly at that, his friend being so fastidious. It was something he had come to love about Stan: his consistent orderliness.

He took a deep breath and stared at the other boy. The sunlight filtering in the shades cast a sort of halo around Stan, giving him the illusion that he was glowing... or an angel.

"Stanley, my boy…" Richie began, not knowing how to finish. "Uh…what do you think about Greta Bowie?"

"Well… nothing, really. She can be mean but she's pretty, I guess. Why?"

"Oh, nothing, she just… She invited me over for a Spin the Bottle party at her house this weekend," Richie slightly puffed his chest out, hand slicking back his hair as if he were James Dean.

"Is that so?" Stan asked mildly, not quite believing his friend. He turned his attention back to Archie and the Gang, not exactly surprised at the tug of jealousy he felt.

"Yeah, so…" Richie's voice faltered again, a very unusual event for him.

"So?"

"So, have you ever?"

"Ever what, Richie?" There was a slight annoyance to Stan's voice now, he just wanted this conversation to be over.

"Kissed anyone."

"No."

"Oh. I have, loads of times. I've done _It_ , too. You virgins don't know what you're missing out on," Richie nervously yammered away and _why was he so nervous in the first place?_

"Sure, Rich. We virgins are all living unfulfilled lives because we haven't _done It_. Life is meaningless until we _do It_."

"Exactly."

"Shut up. I know for a fact you haven't even kissed anyone, let alone done _It_." Stan picked up a pillow and whacked Richie in the face with it. This set off a five-minute pillow fight. Richie won. Stan let him because he couldn't bear to hear the complaining that would ensue if he had lost.

They settled down and returned to their comics before Richie spoke again.

"Stan?"

"Yeah, Rich?"

"Aren't you curious at all? About kissing?"

"I guess."

"What if you're with a girl and you really like her and she likes you and then, well what do you do? Where do your hands go? Or your lips for that matter?"

"They go on her lips, Rich."

"Yeah, but… _how?"_

"What are you saying, Richie?"

"Well, don't you want to practice before you get to this girl? What if you're bad at it and she laughs at you?"

"That's the only way you'll get a laugh from a girl," Stan grinned.

" _YOW-ZA,_ Stan The Man Gets Off A Good One" Richie started in with a voice before Stan cut him off.

"I don't know why you're worried, I'm sure Greta won't mind." Stan had to fight to keep the bitterness out of his voice. And where was this coming from anyhow? This was his best friend, not a crush. Though if he was being honest with himself, he had let his daydreams wander in that direction more than a couple times. Flashes of future-memories: their first kiss. Holding hands, walking into school together. Whispered I love yous, smiling into the darkness, falling asleep to steady breathing. Clothes coming off, skin on skin, soft moans (this one Stan thought about once and blushed so deeply he worried he burst some vessels). Once, even a wedding day, his parents happy and smiling, supporting him.

"I just want to be ready is all…"

"I guess."

"Stan?"

"Yeah, Richie?"

"Do you want to practice? With me?" Stan dropped his book in surprise, his head around. Richie's face was beet red and he was staring at his hands. Stan's stomach flipped.

Five seconds passed. Ten. Fifteen. Richie still wouldn't look him in the eye, instead choosing to preoccupy himself by taking a long swig of pop, then inspecting his nails carefully.

"Richie… Yes."

He looked up at that, smiling broadly.

"Really?"

"Really," Stan blushed profusely but managed to return the smile. They both looked away, bashful. Richie spoke up first.

"So... you ready?"

"What, _now_?"

" _Yes, now_." Richie moved so he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing the boy. Stan gulped so loud it was almost comical. His hazel eyes darted from side to side before locking with Richie's brown ones. They looked steady, determined. His gaze traveled over Stan's face, down the bridge of his nose, coming to rest on his lips. Stan gulped again, quieter this time. Richie licked his own lips, clearing his throat.

Stan looked at his hands in his lap, clenching into fists then unclenching. Clench. Unclench. Relax. Repeat. He rubbed his palms on his thighs before turning to Richie, crossing his legs and sitting so close they bumped knees. This angle only further pronounced the halo and Richie was struck with that thought again.

The minutes ticked by, endless and somehow too quickly and then

Richie was leaning forward, head slightly tilted

And Stan instinctively licked his own lips in preparation and

It happened their first kiss their first kiss ever and with each other and they weren't worried about where their hands went or if their lips were pursed too much or too little or if they were too dry

It was a moment they had been waiting for without realizing they were waiting, a moment that was made for them. And suddenly Richie saw what Stan saw, their future-memories- he had seen them before in his own mind's eye, faintly, even though this whole thing was his idea, but now they were in bright bold certainty This Is It Boys And Girls The Big One The First One The Only One That Will Matter

Their lips moved together in perfect synchronicity, like they had been doing this forever, like this is what they were put on this earth to do, hands sliding through hair, resting on a cheek, on a chest, intertwining fingers. Locking this moment into their memories. The blue button down shirt Stan wore, buttons seemingly unbuttoning themselves, Richie's tri-colored striped shirt that had a small bloodstain, courtesy of Henry Bowers. The smell of fresh laundry, courtesy of Andrea Uris. The soft music playing from Stan's record player: Paul Anka, of course.

Stan broke the kiss, grinning, resting his forehead against Richie's. Their eyes locked again, this time full of fire and hope, no trace of the surprise and uncertainty that plagued them earlier. A knock on the door separated them, Mrs. Uris' signal that it was time for Richie to start getting on home, _remember the curfew_.

Stan dutifully helped Richie gather his comics, stuffing them into his bag, both stealing glances every chance they could before walking him to the front door.

"Did you boys have a good time?" Mrs. Uris called from the kitchen as the door opened. The boys shared a smile before answering 'yes' in unison.

As the bespectacled boy turned to leave, Stan called after him.

"Hey, Rich? You can practice with me any time."


End file.
